


blow us all away (someday, someday)

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Babies, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pregnancy, daddy killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of one-shots inspired by tumblr prompts all centered around one thing: Captain Swan babies! (Natural, adopted, or otherwise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Easy Isn't Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because I received anon!hate regarding my writing about CS babies. Since I don't negotiate with hates, I have henceforth decided to be spiteful, meaning that I am going to write a series of CS baby fics based on prompts I received from Tumblr. 
> 
> Prompt: Foster daddy Killian?

“Behold the _Jolly Roger_!”

 

“Neat.”

 

The boy’s monotone indicates that he thinks the ship is anything but “neat,” and Killian feels his ego slightly deflate. Hoping that actually being on the ship would heighten the boy’s spirits, Killian leads him up the gangplank and onto the deck. Unfortunately, however, the boy’s expression remains a look of pure skepticism, and Killian holds back a sigh.

 

He was hoping this would be easier.

 

He watches as the boy – Josiah – wanders around the deck of the ship, absentmindedly kicking errant ropes. He tries to think of something to say, but the words die in his throat. He’s always been quick-witted and sure on his feet, but now he feels adrift as he watches this boy putter around the ship in obvious boredom.

 

“Would you like to take her out?”

 

Killian is answered with a shrug, and then, “Not really.”

 

It was easier with Henry.

 

Of course, Henry wasn’t a stranger then, too. Even when Killian barely knew the lad, it was Milah and Baelfire’s eyes that stared back at him. He and Killian could – and did – bond over the family that the boy barely knew. Killian doesn’t have the same association with Josiah, whose own brown eyes are unfamiliar. His only outside connection with the child is that they hail from the same land, and they now live under the same roof.

 

“Well, lad, what would you prefer to do? The world – at least Storybrooke – is our oyster.”

 

“I dunno.”

 

It would be easier if Emma were here.

 

But Emma isn’t here. She’s on a road trip with Regina and Henry visiting potential colleges. Killian stayed behind, not too keen on piling into a cramped vehicle to drive around New England visiting institutions of higher learning. Besides, Emma needs time to spend with her son before he leaves the proverbial nest, just as Killian needs to bond with their foster son as he settles into his new nest. Emma initially felt apprehensive about leaving Josiah so soon into his stay, but Killian had assured her it would be fine. He just hopes he was right.

 

Emma is good with Josiah. Not that it comes as a surprise – Emma is brilliant at everything she does. But seeing Emma with this boy is something special. She attributes it to her own past as a foster kid. It’s much easier to empathize and connect when you’ve been there yourself. Except this boy’s experience won’t be the same as her own, because they won’t let it. Killian’s blood still boils when he thinks of the ways that his love was mistreated as a child. No child deserves that. They both swear that they won’t let this child – Josiah – feel the same sense of abandonment. They’ll do right by him.

 

Killian tells himself that the best things in life worth fighting for are rarely won so easily. Josiah will be the same. He just has to give it time, be patient.

 

“You used to be a pirate, right?” The boy asks as he looks around the _Jolly Roger._

 

“Still am. Once a pirate, always a pirate,” Killians answers with a grin, hoping that this will be sort of a breakthrough with the kid. Emma’s told him time and time again that boys of any age like pirates, that they think they are cool. Henry had certainly been impressed. So far, Josiah only indicates a passing interest, but maybe all it takes is a ship.

 

“But you don’t act like a pirate. You don’t do pirate-y thing,” Josiah protests, a dubious look on his face. “You live in a house and you don’t steal things. I haven’t even seen you go on a treasure hunt.”

 

It’s strange how children can so easily bruise one’s ego, but Killian takes it in stride. Besides, maybe this will allow him to teach the kid a thing or two. “Ah, first rule of piracy: know to quit when you’re ahead.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Well, you see, I’ve already found the greatest treasure one can find: a beautiful lass, a nice home, indoor plumbing. You get the point.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds cool I guess.” Josiah looks down as is he is considering something. “So you don’t have any hidden treasure here?”

 

Killian regards the boy thoughtfully. Were he to answer truthfully, he would say that he doesn’t have any treasure. Besides, hiding treasure had never been his _modus operandi_ during his more swashbuckling days. He much preferred the travels and freedom from any bonds. The gold and jewels were always just added benefits.

 

But the boy…Killian can see the sparkle in his eyes at the thought of going on a true treasure hunt with a pirate. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the bonding moment that he’s been looking for. Truly, the adventure would offset not finding any true treasure – or so he hopes – and maybe late they will have stories to share with Emma and Henry when they return. A plot begins to formulate in his mind.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. A pirate keeps his secrets, you know.”

 

One secret being that the only treasures he has in this town are the aforementioned lass, home, and indoor plumbing. Brilliant treasures, things he would trade, but definitely not what the boy had in mind when he first began his inquiries.

 

“But we can go on a treasure hunt, right?”

 

“It won’t be easy, lad. A good pirate always hides his loot well. So well, that I might not even be able to find it again.”

 

“Yeah, but if it were easy, it wouldn’t fun.”

 

For the first time since arrive to the docks, Killian sees a wide and excited smile cross the boy’s face. It’s a brilliant thing, and maybe something else to add to his list of treasures. He tells himself that this is a sign that everything will be okay. He can’t wait to tell Emma.

 

“You’re right, mate. You’re exactly right.”

 


	2. Do You Believe in Magic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jadedlilcynner prompted me: Emma and Killian's child discovering they have magic!
> 
> Instead I turned it into the bundle of angst that is Emma dealing with the fact that her child has magic.

When she is born, the lights flicker.

 

They pay no mind to it, far too distracted by the sound of her cries and the weight of her small body in their arms – that beautiful girl of theirs. When the attending nurse does mention it in passing, no mental alarms are raised. The same thing occurred when Henry was born, Emma’s magic can be unreliable under duress, she is after all the Savior, why shouldn’t the light flicker – a litany of excuses that lay culpability on anything but their baby.

 

She has ten fingers and ten toes, weighs six pounds and seven ounces, and her eyes are a brilliant shade blue that they hope never changes. (They will. Her eyes will turn into a color somewhere between blue and green – fitting, as she is from them both.) There is a light dusting of dark hair on her scalp, and the hospital staff all comment on the strength of her lungs and lament the sleepless nights her parents will surely face. (They shrug it off. After all, how difficult can a crying infant be when compared to the Lord of the Dead? Answer: Quite.)

 

All and all, their daughter is a perfectly wonderful and healthy infant.

 

She is the daughter of the Savior and Captain Hook, sister of the Author, and a princess by right. Most importantly, she is the product of True Love – is it any wonder that magic runs through her veins?

 

They don’t realize it at first, the newness of their child too overwhelming to do anything but nurture, sleep, and love. A parade of family and friends dance through their home bringing adulations, gifts, and food, providing and unintentional diversion from the magical occurrences brought upon by the child they were all there to see.

 

When they do notice the strange occurrences – flickering lights, shattered light bulbs, picture frames askew – they once again attribute it to something else. Emma is sleep deprived, the house is old and the wiring shoddy, _anything_ but their baby girl. It’s only in the dead of night when their daughter sneezes blue sparkles that they must accept the inevitable: their child has magic.

 

Emma cries and Killian holds her, telling her that everything will be okay, the fear and worry in voice belying any assurance his words intended to bring. Throughout Emma’s life, magic has been as much of a curse as a blessing. It ripped her away from her own parents, brought her stress and misery and loneliness. Though it has allowed her to save the lives of so many – the father of her daughter included – it has overwhelmed her own life so much that she feels like she is drowning in the responsibility. (This, she sometimes thinks, is why she fell in love with a sailor. They know a thing or two about saving a drowning soul.)

 

Her son has the “Heart of the Truest Believer” and almost died for it. He now holds the title of “The Author” which brings with it its own set of obstacles and threats. Though she is proud of Henry in so many ways, she sometimes hates the Apprentice for placing such a burden on a teenaged boy.

 

And now her girl, her young, sweet, innocent girl could be subject to the same fate.

 

“You could always bind her powers,” Regina tells her over coffee, a sympathetic smile on her face. Emma’s mother balks at the idea, arguing that they shouldn’t hide something so intrinsic to their baby’s being, that the magic is a part of her and they can’t just take it away. Emma knows that her mother is right, _of course she is right_ , but there’s a small part of her that wonders if by binding her powers, they would be giving their daughter her best chance.

 

She says as much to Killian later that night, their daughter asleep (finally) on his bare chest. The sight of her small body rising and falling with his even breathes soothes her somewhat, as does the feel of his fingers twining with her own as she settles next to him on their bed. He is quiet though, his brows furrowed in consternation as he takes in her words and Regina’s suggestion.

 

“Us binding her powers won’t solve anything, as much as we wish it to,” he says finally. He looks up at her, blue eyes meeting green as he continues. “If anything, it could leave her more defenseless against anything that comes her way.”

 

His words pierce her in a way that her mother’s could not, because Killian – like always – is able to pin the exact point of her fears, if only because he feels the same way. It’s not their daughter’s magic that bothers her, not really, but rather what is represents: their child will never be safe from the world in which they live.

 

It feels inevitable that one day someone will come after her for their own gain, for a spell, for anything that could mean harm to their little girl. The fact that she has magic makes it all the more likely, and that scares Emma more than anything else.

 

“I just want her to be safe,” Emma says, and her voice cracks. She fights back the tears that prick at the corner of her eyes, because she wants to remain strong, has to remain strong if they are ever going to protect their daughter.

 

“And she will be,” Killian assures her, his own voice confident, always confident in her ability to fight, to protect, to succeed. Emma wishes she had his self-assurance that everything would turn out okay in the end, but her life has always been a series of great losses amidst small victories, and now she’s just waiting, always waiting, for the other shoe to drop. This is just a reminder of how close she is to losing everything good in her life. (It’s so good now, so, very good.)

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because nothing in this realm – or any other realm, for that matter – will be able to stand between us and keeping her safe,” he says. As an afterthought, he adds, “Not to mention her entire extended family. If they can march into the Underworld to save my sorry arse, just what do you think they would do for her?”

 

“They saved you because they love you.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

And Emma does. In the face of danger, her child will have two loving parents, a set of grandparents, and an array of unofficial aunts and uncles who would fight tooth and nail at the earliest sight of danger. The thought is comforting and foreign all at once, because though they fight for Emma now, it’s still feels like a novel sort of thing to once lost girl. Her daughter will not be alone in whatever comes her way. It’s something Emma never had as a child, and it’s still something she is getting accustomed to as an adult.

 

“I’m scared, Killian.”

 

“I am, as well,” he admits, eyes cast downward to the bundle on his chest, asleep and oblivious to the world around her. “But if we want to keep her safe, we can’t let our fear control us or her. It will only hurt her more in the end.”

 

He’s right, and she tells him as much. To his credit, he doesn’t make a snarky remark or tease her that he’s always right, but instead pulls her into a soft kiss. After, they somehow manage to maneuver out of bed and into the nursery without waking their daughter, a small victory for the night. Weary from their own sleepless night, they fall into bed almost immediately, arms wrapped around one another in comfort, love, and security.

 

That night Emma dreams of monsters and magic and her own terrifying failure as both hero and mother. She awakens in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in chest as Killian snores oblivious next to her. Emma gingerly extricates herself from his arms, and pads down the hallway to the nursery, needing the assurance of her child in her arms. When she enters the room, however, she gasps.

 

Dozen of tiny lights dance across the ceiling, mimicking constellations in the night sky. Her daughter gurgles and coos in the crib, the lights swirling with each movement of her arms. As Emma lifts the infant, the lights swirl around them both, bathing them both in warmth and light. This is different than the flickering lights, broken light bulbs, and even sneezed sparkles. This is beautiful and good, everything she believes her child to be.

 

It is in this moment that Emma knows everything will be okay.


	3. If We Lay a Strong Enough Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My spouse prompted me to write the following fic: Write about Emma finding out she's been pregnant this whole time. Spoilers for 5x21

_“…and Prince Charles and Princess Leia danced around the ballroom, both forgetting their mission in hopes of spending another minute in each other’s arms.”_

Emma felt a flutter in belly as she recounted the story of her and Killian’s first dance, the once recorded in Henry’s storybook. She’d read that at around twenty-five weeks, the fetus would begin to respond to familiar voices. She was delighted to find it to be true, her developing daughter moving about with each word she read.

When Emma had been pregnant with Henry, she’d done her best to ignore those sort of developmental milestones, unwilling to grow further attached to infant she knew she would be unable to keep. She didn’t read pregnancy books, and paid little attention to the ultrasounds she’d received when ushered to the prison’s infirmary. Over the years, Emma grew to regret that ignorance, especially after Henry reemerged into her life.

She vowed not to make the same mistake the second time around.

Of course, the situation she was in now was quite different than the she had been in then. She was no longer the scared kid – seventeen and alone, living behind bars and charged with a crime she didn’t commit. She was older now, more sure of herself and her abilities, not just as the Savior, but as a mother. She lived in a gorgeous house, the kind with a large backyard, perfect for a toddler or young child to play during the warm summers. Most importantly, she wasn’t alone. She had an entire support system now, comprised of her loving parents, amazing son, and a network of friends.

And Killian. Most importantly, she had him.

Emma remembered when they first learned of the pregnancy. Just a few weeks back from the Underworld, it had been a shock to both of them. The signs had been there, of course, most prominently a few missing periods, but Emma had contributed that to the resulting grief and stress due to his death and subsequent Underworld adventure. Pregnancy hadn’t even crossed her mind, at least, not until the bouts of morning sickness had struck.

From her own backwards math, Emma had estimated that the baby had been conceived sometime in Camelot. That had been confirmed when they had their first ultrasound, and Whale had commented that she was nearing the end of her first trimester. Killian had been uncharacteristically quiet after that. Emma had thought it was because he was overwhelmed with the whole thing, especially because he had appeared so incredibly happy when she’d told him, picking her up and kissing her senseless. However, when they arrived home and ensconced themselves away from the world, he had broke, showering her and her belly with apologies.

She had been confused at first, until it hit her why exactly Killian was upset. Their baby had been conceived in Camelot. Without literal divine intervention, he never would have known, let alone gotten the chance to see, his child. She would have once again been forced to undergo a pregnancy without its father. It was a shattering thought, that almost-reality that they (or rather, she) nearly lived through.

They had promised together, once they had wrangled their own emotions under control, to make the absolute most of their second (third?) chance. It was something they had done before, the night he had returned to her from the dead, but this was different. It was as much of a promise to their unborn child as it was to one another, one they intended to keep.

They were making good on that promise, too.

They had wed shortly after their discovery, the pregnancy prompting the urgency, but not the desire for marriage. Killian had proudly admitted that prior to even knowing about their child, he had approached both Henry and David about asking for her hand. The ceremony had been on the deck of the Jolly, her son acting as Best Man and her father escorting her down the makeshift aisle as both he and her mother cried.

They had cleared out the second bedroom, the one that been serving as a storage room of sorts, with the intention of turning it into a nursery. Even before knowing the sex of the baby, they painted the walls blue with the hope of creating nautical theme for the baby. Whether it was a boy or girl, there was no doubt that their child would love the sea, and the sea it would get. The nursery was still nowhere near complete. It needed a crib and changing table. However, it wasn’t empty. There was already a shelf full of books gifted from Belle, who hoped dearly their children would be friends. Toys from various townspeople were already pouring out of a chest fashioned to look like the treasure variety.

Emma’s favorite, though, was a rocking chair gifted to them from Regina.

“Henry loved it. It would put him right to sleep,” Regina had explained when she dropped it off. It had touched Emma, Regina’s show of goodwill. The woman didn’t stay long, still struggling through her own grief of losing Robin. Emma knew that her and Killian’s own happiness was a sore spot, if only because they served as reminder of Regina had so cruelly and unfairly had lost. Emma had gotten her love back, and Regina never would. But they both appreciated her reaching out and not letting her sadness consume her. Emma had drowned in her own grief upon returning from the Underworld, sure that she would never see Killian again, so she understood.

Emma often sat in that rocking chair, watching as Killian made his best attempt to sketch a map onto the wall in which the crib would sit against, or reading the storybook to her stomach and the air. Reading the book aloud had become a ritual of sorts, sometimes her, or Killian, or even Henry taking turns. She wanted their child to know where she came from, the magic she was going to be born into and around.

Tonight was one such night. Emma sat in the chair reading aloud as Killian did his best to draw an elegant rendering of the cardinal points on the wall. She now needed to hold the book at a strange angle, the swell of her belly beginning to prevent her from laying it flat on her lap. It was a happy sort of problem, one she couldn’t wait to see grow.

Her fingers traced the image of her and Killian dancing, just as she had done in the library the night they were attempting to defeat Hades. This time, happiness swirled inside her, the smile on her face wider than the one she wore in the picture. She looked up from the book to see Killian returning that same grin, joy written across his handsome features.

It was proof of the biggest reason Emma wanted to read these stories to their child: a reminder that it was possible to find your happily ever after.


	4. Make the World Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from sambethe: Either one of them having to navigate the minefield that is the loss (permanent or temporary) of a beloved stuffed animal.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Please,” Emma winced, shifting the sobbing toddler on her hip. Her daughter had been crying intermittently for the past few hours, seemingly irrevocably upset that her favorite stuffed animal – an adorable little crocodile – had somehow gone missing. Both her and Killian had scoured the house, the loft, and the Jolly Roger to no avail, stumped at the toy’s sudden disappearance. Emma had even tried a few summoning spells, but those didn’t turn up the stuffed animal, either. At a point of desperation, Emma turned to one another person she knew who could possibly help: Regina.

“What makes you think that I can magically make the thing appear if you can’t?” Regina asked, crossing her arms and staring at Emma blankly. 

“Because you’re more experienced than me,” Emma answered with a weak smile. Flattery and begging were not above her at this point. Her daughter let out another cry, burying her small face into Emma’s shoulder, wailing something about how missed her “Crocy”. Hugging her more closely, Emma whispered an, “I know, baby, we’ll find him.”

Regina, to her credit, cast a sympathetic smile toward Emma. “While I appreciate the flattery, finding missing things isn’t always that easy. This isn’t Harry Potter where you can Accio whatever you want. You generally need an idea of where your lost item might be, or a piece of it, neither of which I assume you have. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I just don’t get how she could have lost it. She barely lets go of thing.” Emma sighed, running a soothing hand through her daughter’s dark hair. The toddler hiccupped, and her crying began to lessen. Emma frowned, unsure of how Regina would react to her next line of thought. “You don’t think someone might have taken it, do you?”

Regina appeared to catch Emma’s underlying meaning, because rather than answer Emma outright, she turned to the girl in Emma’s arms, and asked, “I know Robin isn’t here, but would you like to go to her room and play with some toys?”

Emma felt, rather than saw, her daughter’s nod, and the three of them walked from the main sitting room upstairs to what was young Robin’s room. The myriad of toys there provided the perfect distraction from their conversation, and Emma smiled as her daughter went straight for the pile of stuffed animals. She looked so innocent in that moment, just a little girl in a purple dress seeking out the things she loved most – animals, these being of the stuffed variety. Emma wanted to do everything possible the shield that innocence, and to keep her safe, but the fear that something or someone out there could possibly hurt her gnawed at her gut.

“I think you’re being paranoid,” Regina said once the little girl began planning what could only be assumed was a wedding between a hippo and caterpillar. “Children lose things all of the time. Do you know how many toys Robin has misplaced without anyone trying to kill her? Or Henry did when he was her age?”

“You told me I was being paranoid when I thought something bad was going to happen before she was born, and I ended up being right about that,” Emma replied with a frown, thinking back on the day her daughter was born. Henry affectionately titled the day the “Near Apocalypse,” and it had taken the combined efforts of Regina, Zelena, and Maleficient to stop the threat. Not that Emma had been around for much of it, locked away in a hospital room in the throes of labor. All had turned out well in the end, barring Killian completely missing his only child’s birth, a fact that still bothered him to this day. 

“That had nothing to do with her,” Regina reminded Emma. “Facilier was making use of the fact that you would be out of commission.”

“What about Barbossa?” Emma countered, the memory of the pirate captain – who was nothing like his film counterpart – coming to mind, and the terrible aftermath of realizing her baby had been kidnapped by the man seeking out revenge against Killian. The image of Killian carrying their daughter, barely one at the time, out of the recesses of the ship, his clothes and sword still stained with blood still haunted her dreams. 

“Okay, so people have tried to hurt her,” Regina replied evenly, not a hint of irritation in her tone. “But sometimes a missing toy is just a missing toy. You’re going to drive yourself crazy thinking a villain is hiding around the corner trying to hurt her or take her away. Trust me, I know.”

Emma sighed. Objectively, she knew Regina was right. In all likelihood, “Crocy” had likely been forgotten somewhere. Still it didn’t stop her laying awake at night wondering what other nightmare could be awaiting her family. Killian, like Regina, tried to alleviate her fears – though, he generally acted more tactful in that regard. It didn’t always help, though, especially in moments like these when her daughter’s cries could so easily set her askew.

“I just don’t remember it being this bad with Henry. I’ve always been worried about him, but it feels different.”

“Of course it wasn’t like this with Henry. He was ten when he found you. “It’s always different with a toddler than it is with an older child,” Regina said, half-laughing at Emma’s statement. Emma glared as Regina shook her head. “In truth, you’re dealing with it better than me. When I found out that you were his mother, I forced myself to take a memory potion to not deal with the situation.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“What can I say? I realized my paranoia was in no way going to help Henry. And before you bring up the curse, yes, I now recognize that also wasn’t good for him,” Regina explained, smiling ruefully. “If you’re really worried, cast a protection spell on your house again, but don’t panic whenever something goes wrong. It’s not healthy.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” Leaving a bemused Regina, Emma walked further into the room to sit beside her daughter. “What do you say we thank Regina, and then head home and get some ice cream?”

They made their farewells, with Regina receiving not one, but two giant hugs and kisses from the small child. It made Emma’s heart swell to see the affection her daughter show easily showed, a characteristic Emma most certainly didn’t have at that age. This was something else that Emma wanted to protect and cherish, the love her daughter carried in her heart.

“It’s going to be okay, Emma.” Regina told her as they left, and Emma did her best to force herself to believe it.

They walked home together, her daughter chattering happily, her missing stuffed animal briefly forgotten. Emma knew it wouldn’t be long until she remembered “Crocy” again, bedtime looming on the horizon. She was already bracing herself for another meltdown. It didn’t happen, however, because when they returned home, Killian was waiting, the stuffed crocodile secured safely in his arms.

“Daddy, you found him!” 

“I’m a pirate, my little cygnet, I can find even the most difficult and precious of treasures,” Killian announced, proceeding to hand over the stuffed animal with a flourish. Their daughter squealed happily, hugging her toy tightly in her arms before lecturing quite sternly – well, as sternly as three-year-old could muster – on why it shouldn’t go away without telling her. 

“Where did you really find him?” Emma asked, pulling Killian into a hug once their daughter was sufficiently distracted. He placed a kiss on her head as she burrowed into his chest.

“At the toy store off Maple Street, along with three other crocodiles that now reside on the top shelf of the bedroom closet,” Killian whispered sheepishly into her ear. If his own arms weren’t wrapped around her waist, Emma knew he would be scratching behind his ear. “I’m afraid our dear crocodile is lost to this world.”

“I bet you never thought you would be saying that in this context,” Emma said with a teasing laugh. The original stuffed crocodile had been a gift from her father, mostly as a joke, but one their daughter had practically imprinted on instantly. Killian had taken it in stride, especially weak to his daughter’s big blue eyes and pout after he attempted to take it away. 

“The Crocodile and I have made our peace. Besides, I would loathe seeing the chain of events that would bring about his final demise. We, unfortunately, would be dragged into the affair as unwilling participants,” he gritted out, and Emma felt his fingers tense on her back. “Speaking of, are you still worried about the toy’s whereabouts?” 

“Yeah, I think I always will be a little bit,” Emma replied truthfully. She pulled out of his arms to look up at him, his blue eyes studying her with a mix of worry and understanding. “But, I talked to Regina, and she helped talk me down a bit.”

“Good. I’m glad you could talk to her.”

“It’s just a little bit scary, not knowing.”

“Aye, love, I know.” Killian drew her back into his arms, his hold on her tighter than before. “But we’re going to keep her safe.”

Emma was looking forward to the day she could actually believe it, and stop the worry that was still settled in her chest. Until then, she resolved to make the most of the not-so-quiet moments she had now –

“Hey, sweetheart, do you want some ice cream?”

“Can Crocy have some too?”

– even if those moments included giving a stuffed animal ice cream.


	5. Dancing Princesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You should write Killian reacting to his daughter's first date!

Over the years, Killian had come to better understand David Nolan. It was a process, of course, being that the pirate and the prince had a number of preconceived misconceptions about one another, compounded with the fact that Killian very much was trying to court David’s daughter. Killian did attempt to empathize with David’s feelings during the more tumultuous points their relationship, even if he tended to enjoy doing and saying whatever things possible to get a rise out of the so-called Prince Charming.

 

It wasn’t until the nurse had placed his newborn daughter into his arms that he really understood David, and the past few years of his fatherly protectiveness truly made sense. Fourteen years after that moment, well, no one could blame him for taking inspiration from David when a young lad came to pick up his daughter for her first dance.

 

Killian wasn’t exactly happy with this development. As far as he was concerned, his daughter was still the little girl that wanted nothing more than to play pirates and princess and for him to read her stories before bed, not the teenager who wished to dance with boys. It was his prerogative to think that way. After all, he was sure that David thought of Emma as the infant he placed in the wardrobe. Unfortunately, Emma didn’t feel the same.

 

“What do we even know about this boy?” Killian groused after their daughter announced that this boy had asked her to prom, and that she had said ‘yes’. “How do we know he isn’t some cad or a villain in disguise?”

 

“Because we need to trust our daughter,” Emma responded with a glare, to which he replied that it wasn’t her he didn’t trust, it was the boy. “Killian, it’s Philip. You know, Aurora and Philip’s kid? He’s not a villain. He might have been a fetal flying monkey, but he’s a good kid.”

 

“Could he still be a flying monkey in disguise? She takes after you, you know,” he teased, which led to Emma throwing a dishtowel at his face. “Besides, isn’t she too young to be attending a prom? From what I recall, Henry didn’t attend until he was in a higher grade level.”

 

He was still learning this realm’s rules about balls – dances, as they were called here – and everything seemed entirely different for girls than boys. It was quite overwhelming, and as much as he enjoyed dancing in balls, being a parent to a teenager come the time of these events was quite overwhelming. 

 

“Freshmen can go if they get asked by an upperclassman,” Emma answered. Before he could open his mouth to reply, she scolded, “And the next words out of your mouth better not be anything in the ballpark of saying he’s too old for her, Mr. Centuries Old Pirate.”

 

So he held his tongue, even if he did think the lad was a bit too old for her. 

 

The of the prom, the house was a bustle of activity, far busier than any of the times Henry had attended a dance. Of course, the weeks leading up to the dance had also felt busier than normal, all due to the quest to find the “perfect gown”, an adventure that he was happy to sit out on, and Emma and Snow were all too happy to assist in. As far as he was concerned, his daughter would look perfect in any gown, but that response had only earned an eyeroll and a “Whatever, Dad,” so his opinion was overruled.

 

She’d been doing that quite a bit lately, rolling her eyes and responding to his comments with an air of “misplaced teenage superiority” as Emma called it. He wasn’t overly fond of this development either, as it reminded him that his little girl – the same little girl who once thought he hung the moon – was growing up, and time was flying far too quickly for his liking. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he brought her home from hospital?

 

He jumped when there was a knock on the door, only to relax to realize it was David and Snow. They had agreed to come over once they had taken adequate (meaning many) pictures of Neal and his boyfriend before the two left for the pre-dance dinner. Snow was quite excited about the whole prom affair, likely remembering everything she had in the Enchanted Forest, and practically pushed him out of the way to rush upstairs to see assist with the finishing touches, or whatever it was the women in his family were doing at the moment.

 

“How are you holding up?” David asked, a bemused yet sympathetic smile on his face.

 

“He’s drinking lots of rum!” Henry shouted from the den, making David laugh.

 

Henry had stopped by the house to see his sister off to prom, and to give Killian a proper ribbing. He was actually going to be in attendance at the prom as a chaperone, as he taught English at the high school. It apparently wasn’t a requirement, and he teased his little sister he was only doing it to watch out for her. The Storybrooke rumor mill, however, seemed to think Henry was sweet on the new teacher, Miss Honey, and was going to spend more time with her. Knowing Henry, the latter was more likely.

 

“Are Aurora and Philip coming over?” David asked as they made their way into the den. Killian poured a liberal amount of rum into his glass, earning a snicker from Henry.

 

“Emma is going to send over a few pictures, I believe,” Killian added with a grimace. Despite the passage of time and an apology, Aurora still wasn’t overly fond of him. Not that he could necessarily blame her. She acted friendly enough to him, especially around the kids, but there was an underlying coldness in their interactions. That was another reason he wasn’t overly fond of his daughter courting her son, not that it was necessarily fair to either of them.

 

Before David could say anything else, there was another knock on the door. This time, there was no mistake for whom it could be. Sharing a look with David and Henry, he took long strides to let the boy into his home.

 

“Hello, Mr. Jones,” the boy greeted. He was wearing a suit that was customary to this realm, his vest a bluish color that Killian assumed was the color of his daughter’s dress. Not that he knew what color it was, as she refused to tell him, and he couldn’t ply the information from Emma, no matter how convincing he tried to act.

 

“Good evening, lad,” Killian replied, stepping aside to let the boy inside. Philip followed, and visibly blanched when he noticed both Henry and David waiting in den, twin smiles on their faces. Killian supposed it could be intimidating for the boy. From what Henry told him, Philip wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was entering what could be considered enemy waters, and no one should want to be in opposition of Prince Charming, Captain Hook, and the Author. To the lad’s credit, he visibly straightened himself and recovered.

 

“I brought this for Lizzie,” the boy said, thrusting out his arm to show off the clear box in his hand that clearly held a corsage. Killian recalled that Henry had purchased similar ones years ago for his prom dates.

 

“I’m sure _Elizabeth_ will love it,” Killian replied, placing emphasis on his daughter’s given name. He wasn’t overly fond of the nickname she had picked up over the years, believing “Lizzie” to be too common for a girl such as her. Elizabeth was regal, a proper name for princesses or pirate kings. She wasn't a "Lizzie", even if others considered her as such.

 

“How’s your paper coming along, Philip?” Henry piped up, as if sensing the slight tension in the air. Unfortunately, this appeared to do nothing to relax the lad. Asking about schoolwork rarely put students at ease, and Killian wondered if Henry had his own ulterior motives. While he said Philip was a “good student” and that “Liz would have no reason to kick his ass, but she could if she wanted”, it wouldn’t be a surprise if his “protective older brother” side weren’t coming out.

 

“Um, it’s going, Mr. Mills.”

 

“What’s your paper about?” David asked.

 

“Uh, it’s about _The Once and Future King._ ” Philip replied, his eyes darting to the stairs as if willing Elizabeth to come down and save him. Unfortunately for him, her hair was apparently a more important priority.

 

“Did you know we met King Arthur?” David inquired, seemingly intent on playing good cop.

 

“Yeah, Mr. Mills told us that. It’s pretty cool how the stories get things wrong,” Philip said, nodding to Henry. “We read _Peter Pan_ a few years ago, and that one was obviously wrong. You know, with you not being a villain l anymore and all.”

 

“Ah, but you see, I was villain. Peter Pan may not have been a hero, but rest assured I was most certainly a villain,” Killian countered, an idea formulating in his mind. Emma would surely scold him for what he had planned. But Emma was upstairs, meaning her priorities laid with Elizabeth and her hair rather than making sure he behaved around the boy. He could see David shaking his head, and Henry attempting to stifle a laugh. “I killed many a man during my days as a pirate. Men who angered and annoyed me, men who hurt the people I cared about.”  
  
  
“But Killian doesn’t do that anymore,” David interjected, “Instead, he lets the law handle those people. Usually.”

 

“So you and Lizzie’s mom, right?”

 

“Right,” David answered. “And we don’t take too kindly to people who break the law or hurt people.”

 

“Don’t pay too much mind to them, Philip,” Henry assured calmly. “They’re just being overprotective. Anything that they threaten would be an abuse of power. Similar to how I would be abusing my power as the Author if I wiped people who I didn’t like from existence. It’s all theoretically possible, but we probably wouldn’t do it.”

 

“Well, I’m sure if anything bad were to happen, Lizzie would throttle anyone who tried to hurt her before you guys could get to the idiot, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” Philip said, stunning Killian with his forwardness. To the boy’s credit, he held together surprisingly well while more or less being threatened. “I mean, anyone would have to be an idiot to try and hurt her, right? She’s kind of a badass.”

 

Unfortunately, there were an uncomfortable number of “idiots” in Elizabeth’s past, not that the boy necessarily knew about the men and women who tried to kidnap or kill her throughout her childhood simply because of the blood and magic that ran through her veins. That, too, was why Killian felt a overpowering sense to protect his little girl, far more than her assumed a father would normally. Again, this was something he shared with David.

 

“Who’s a badass?”  
  
  
Later, Emma would tell him that both is and Philip’s jaws would drop in unison at the sight of Elizabeth descending the stairs in her prom dress. Not that he blames himself or the boy, because any reaction less than that would have been an insult to his daughter. She was an absolute vision. Her gown was a deep navy color with sparkles in the tulle of her ball gown. It reminded him of the stars dancing across the sea on a clear night, and Killian felt his heart catch in his throat.  
  
  
“Wow, Lizzie, you look great,” he heard Philip say. “Great” was honestly an understatement, especially with the way her dark hair was elegantly curled and partially tied in the back. She was most certainly the fairest of them all and would be at this prom.

 

“Well, yeah, of course I do,” Elizabeth replied with a smirk. Emma always told him that their daughter inherited his ego. Killian simply considered it a healthy dose of self-confidence. “You don’t look so bad, either.”

 

Killian vaguely noticed the sound of a camera snapping, no doubt Snow taking a multitude of pictures of her granddaughter’s first formal ball, but he was too entranced by watching the boy place the corsage on his daughter’s outstretched arm. He felt Emma wrap her arms around his middle, he presence comforting as he watched his only daughter grin widely at her date.

 

“We did good,” Emma whispered to him, and Killian could only nod. He could remember distinctly how small Elizabeth looked in Emma’s arms the day she was born. Now, she appeared very much like the young woman she was becoming.

 

“Aye.”  
  
  
They all moved outside to continue to take pictures. Snow served as the primary photographer, instructing the kids into poses. It reminded Killian of his and Emma’s wedding with the number of pictures that apparently had to be taken, but it was worth it to watch his daughter laugh at the jokes Philip made all the while. Henry bid an early farewell, but not before Snow urged him to take a picture with his sister. Elizabeth made a show standing on her tip-toes to place a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and Killian’s heart surged with pride at the sight of his two children – because Henry was very much his son at this point – beaming happily together. He knew that this was a picture that would soon sit on the mantle above the fireplace.

 

“Okay, now one with Dad,” Elizabeth requested, beckoning Killian forward with an exaggerating wave of her arms. Emma pushed on his back, urging him forward – not that she needed to. He was quite eager to join his daughter, thank you very much. Philip smartly stepped to the side, moving over to talk to David.

 

“You look lovely, Cygnet,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled her into a hug.

 

“Thanks, Daddy.” Ah, and that struck him through the heart, her soft “Daddy”. She rarely called him that anymore, and Killian found himself missing it quite a bit.

 

“Your date seems to think you’re a badass…or so he says.”

 

“I learned from the best,” she replied with a cheeky grin, and he felt another surge of pride. “He said he first starting liking me after I beat him three times in a row in fencing club.”

 

“Smart lad,” Killian commented. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box. His daughter’s green eyes widened at the sight. “I have something for you.”

 

“Is it shiny?”

 

“Did I ever tell you that you would make an excellent pirate?”

 

“About a zillion times,” she replied with a grin, snatching the box from his hand and opening the gift. She gasped when she saw what was inside. It was a necklace. The chain was simple and silver from which a small silver anchor pendant delicately hung. “Oh wow, this is so pretty.”

 

“And yet not as pretty as you.”

 

“Can I wear it?”

 

“That is what one does with necklaces.”

 

It was moments like this that he wished he had his hand, if only so he could help place it on her neck. Instead it was Emma who moved forward to help her. Not that he minded too much, as Killian enjoyed any moment he shared with both his wife and daughter. When he had mentioned buying the necklace for their daughter, Emma had teased him about giving jewelry as gifts for dangerous situations, no doubt reminded of their time in Camelot. Now, however, he could see her eyes glossing over with tears.

 

“Your father picked this out all by himself, you know.”

 

“Pirates are good with that sort of thing.”

 

“Too right. That we are, lass,” Killian grinned. Elizabeth hugged him in gratitude for the gift, and together the three of them huddled together for another family photo. This, too, would be a picture he would keep close.  
  
Later, after Philip escorted Elizabeth to his car and Emma joined Snow inside for drinks, David clapped him on the back. “It gets easier, you know.”

 

“Does it now?”

 

“Yeah, you start off hating the situation, and next thing you know you’re going on a quest into the pits of hell to bring the poor sap back to life.”

 

Killian grimaced, not wanting that life for his little girl, or Philip for that matter. “I would rather not.”

 

“I didn’t either, but here we are.” David shrugged next to him. “But it all works out in the end. She’ll find her True Love and you’ll be happy.”

 

“I think she’s too young to be thinking of True Loves, Dave,” Killian replied, head swimming because that really was too much far too soon.

 

“Oh, definitely, way too young. But it could be worse, you know.”

 

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “Could it?”

 

“She could be dating Chip Gold.”

 

Killian understood many things about David Nolan, but he was never going to accept or understand the man’s cruel sense of humor.

 

(Especially once he became right, and Elizabeth did end up dating Chip Gold.)


	6. The Power of (True) Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the wonderful scene in 6x07, Killian inspires his daughter to fight using the story of his and Emma’s love.

“I can’t do it, Dad.”

She looks at him with Emma’s eyes, pleading and scared. Killian wants nothing more than to lift this burden from her shoulders, to protect her as he swore to do all those years ago when the doctor had placed her, red and squallling, into his waiting arms. But she is her mother’s daughter, and try as he might, destiny and fate have other plans. 

“Yes, you can, love,” he tells her, not just because he is her father, but because he’s never seen her fail to overcome an obstacle before. He was there when she took her first tentative steps across the carpeted rug of her nursery, and later, as she stumbled and tripped across the three letter words at her first attempts to read. He had watched her struggle and succeed through magic classes, sword lessons, and her least favorite task, parallel parking. He even watched her stand at a podium, wearing a strange hat and colored robes, and she gave a speech at her graduation. And even as fear grips at his heart, he knows she will overcome this.

She has to. 

“But, Daddy, if I fail -- if I fail, a lot of people are gonna die. Grandma and Grandpa, Henry, Gid--” 

“You aren’t going to fail.” Killian keeps his voice stern, pulling out the pirate captain’s inflection he used decades ago to tame an unruly crew, even as his heart shatters in his chest. She hasn’t called him “Daddy” in awhile now, not since she was a preteen testing the limits of her own independence. She’s so afraid, and he wants to soothe her, but he isn’t sure how.

Emma had always been better at this. Emma had been the one to talk their daughter down when the burden of her destiny became too much. Emma understood in ways he never could. But Emma’s gone, and it’s the two of them now. 

He tries to think back to before their daughter was born, when Emma had been coming into her own with her Savior duties. Emma had always called him her biggest cheerleader. How had he gotten her to see through the fog and trust in her own power?

And then, Killian remembers.

“How I ever told you how I met your mother?”

“Dad, now is not the time--”

“No, sweetheart, it is the time,” he tells her, talking her hand and urging her to sit down next to him. To Killian’s surprise, she acquiesces easily, curling next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Once upon a time, a pirate met a feisty princess…”

“I’ve heard this story a million times, you know.”

“A little refresher never hurt,” he reminds her, even as she casts him a rather dubious look. “You see, despite centuries separating their births, they somehow found one another.”

“And then she left him on the beanstalk, and he locked her in a cell, and through a boatload of magic, they both ended up in Storybrook, and oh look, they found each other again,” his daughter adds, agitation evident in her voice again. She leans away from him. “Dad, I don’t have time for this. I need to--”

“You need to listen. I know you inherited your mother’s impatience, but trust me on this, aye?” He holds her gaze until she nods. She looks so much like Emma in this moment that his heart simultaneously breaks and swells. Gods, he wishes Emma could be here. 

He takes a deep breath to rein in his warring emotions, and then continues. “Your mother and I were often separated, then united. Always finding one another again, despite the odds. You know why that is?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Neither do I.” And for the first time in what feels like forever, she laughs. “But to hear your grandparents tell it, they would say your mother and I were destined to be together, because we were True Loves. Still are, truthfully. It’s not the sort of thing that goes away.”

“Dad--”

“Listen, cygnet, I don’t put much stock in destiny and fate,” Killian says as he takes her hand into his, “but, I believe in love, and in the people I love. Your mother was the product of your grandparent’s True Love. And you are the product of your mother’s and mine. True Love is the most powerful magic there is, and you have it running through your veins.”

He kisses her forehead.

“You won’t fail.”

She doesn’t.


	7. Newborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Killian watching Emma breastfeed their baby? lots of fluff and feelings :)

He’s exhausted.

He didn’t sleep much the previous night, his senses on high alert, fearful that a villain could be lurking around the corner. His back aches, the chair he’s been lounged in for the past few hours uncomfortable and hard. But, his discomfort is a small price to pay for the gift he’s been given.   
  
Killian watches as Emma cradles their newborn daughter in her arms, the infant’s lips latched onto her breast. If he thought her brilliant before, it was compared to his awe in seeing her carry their child, admiring as her body developed month-by-month, and standing by her side and holding her hand as she delivered their daughter into the world.

“You’re amazing,” he tells her, pushing himself out of the hospital chair, ignoring the ache in his bones as he moves forward toward the hospital bed where his two loved are positioned. “You both are amazing.”

He presses a kiss to Emma’s temple, and she leans toward him, sighing in comfort. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

Tentatively, he reaches his hand out to trace the crown of their child’s skull, admiring the light dusting of dark hair. Her eyes are closed as she feeds herself, finger clenched tight into a small fist. “She’s perfect.”

“Even more perfect now that she’s out of me,” Emma tells him with chuckle. She looks up at him, green eyes luminous with unshed tears. “She’s here. She’s finally here.”

 “Aye, love.” He reclines against the bed, and wraps his hooked arm against Emma’s shoulders, hand still caressing their child. He has his two True Loves in his arms, and Killian Jones couldn’t be happier. 


	8. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt idea: Emma tells Hook she's pregnant

They’re at the hospital when it happens. Another fight, another villain, another near miss that almost cost Emma her life. Both her father and Killian had insisted she go get checked out to make sure everything is okay, and she went to please them. (Or, really, just to get them off her back.) And everything is okay, mostly. But it’s when the nurse tells her that her vitals are fine, maybe a little high, but it’s understandable, all things considered, that things change, because she follows it with –

“However, we really should get you into an ultrasound to be sure everything is fine with the baby.”

“I’m sorry, but what?”

The nurse looks at her strangely, her cheeks coloring when she realizes that Emma didn’t have a clue to what she had been referencing. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. When we gave you a blood test, it showed elevated levels of hCG. You’re pregnant.”

 “Oh.”

Emma doesn’t know what else to say to that, except for maybe she suddenly feels like throwing up and that her body has suddenly turned cold. She’s pregnant. She’s having a baby. And suddenly she’s seventeen again staring at the pregnancy test that told her just how truly fucked her life had become.

“Miss Swan – Emma – do you want me to go get someone?” The nurse places her hand soothingly on her arm, and Emma realizes that her reaction might not be the most normal or expected thing. “I believe both your father and partner are outside in the waiting room. I can get one of them, if you would feel more comfortable having one of them here. Or someone else, if you’d rather.”

Except this is not how it went in prison, where she more or less received a “suck for you” and judgmental glances from the other prisoners at the jail. She has people waiting on the other side for her, people who are in the waiting room this very second wanting to know if she’s going to be okay. And she is, mostly. She thinks. It’s all very much a shock. But it’s not a shock she has to deal with totally on her own.

“Um, yeah, can you get Killian in here please?” Emma asks, looking at the nurse and giving her what she hopes is a convincing smile. “He’s the one with the hook, so he won’t be hard to miss.”

“Of course,” the nurse says, hurrying out of the room and leaving Emma alone. 

She sits on the bed in the hospital room, her fingers reaching up for the ring that hangs around her neck. It’s a security blanket of sorts for her, one that’s she’s used to keep herself grounded in the darkest of times. And compared to Killian being dead, this whole situation is downright sunny.

She spins the ring around her fingers, trying to figure out just what to tell Killian. “Hey, you know how I said I had a magic pill that prevented pregnancy? Guess what, it failed!” They hadn’t explicitly discussed what would happen if she became pregnant. They’d always more or less danced around the idea of kids. Kids were a maybe someday, nebulous sort of thing that was meant for the future and not exactly now. But that future is now, and she’s afraid to tell him.

It’s silly, really, and she knows it is. Because he’s Killian and he’s always been supportive of her. And she’s pretty sure if she wanted to exercise her right to choose, he would be supportive of that, as well. But she remembers prison, and she remembers Neal leaving her behind, and she’s terrified. Even more terrified now that she knows there’s a chance that the whole fight with Storybrooke’s latest villain could have fucked up the baby somehow. 

And that makes her want to cry, because she really feels like she should have known she was pregnant. She’s missed her past two periods, but even on birth control, they haven’t always been regular – especially during times of stress or sickness. And she certainly had a sinus infection a few months ago, and fighting bad guys has had her sleeping less and eating worse and – oh God, she might have killed her baby before she even knew it existed. 

“Swan, are you okay?” Killian sweeps into the room, concern evident in his voice as he takes her in. He’s by her side in an instant, his hand taking hers in his own. “Darling, tell me what’s wrong.”

Emma hears the nurse say something about giving them some privacy, but her focus is entirely on Killian and the furrow to his brow, and the way he’s wetting his lips as if he’s preparing to hear terrible news. And maybe he is? Or isn’t? Emma isn’t sure where she stands on the whole thing, or where he stands, so instead she takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not dying.”

“But you’re crying,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of confusion. He lets go of her hand long enough to wipe away a tear with his hand. “Normally, tears don’t precede good news.” 

“They do sometimes,” she counters, not really knowing why she’s suddenly being combative except that she is. And, she could be right that this could be good news, except –

“Well, normally not with you. So, I’ll ask you again, what’s wrong?” 

Emma blinks back the tears, heart swelling at the show of compassion and love this man has for her. She knows it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore, but it still does – how much he loves and cares for her, that is. “Nothing is exactly wrong. Or maybe it is. We never really, truly discussed if this would be in the realm of good or bad, it was always just sort of there and –“ 

“Swan, you’re rambling.”

“–well, here’s the thing, I’m pregnant. Surprise!”

Emma makes a gesture that sort of resembles jazz hands in the lamest sort of way possible, possibly hoping for a laugh. She doesn’t get one. Instead, she watches Killian’s face as he registers just what she had she had said, and sees the moment where we words truly sink in. His lips part and his eyes widen, and his eyebrows rise spectacularly. 

“You’re with child?” 

“Looks like it. Apparently my hCG levels are elevated.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s doctor-speak for I’m pregnant.” 

“Well then,” he says, and Emma waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks down at his shoes, his brow furrowing again. So it’s up to her to hedge her bets and figure out where he’s at right now.

Damn.

“Are you…are you okay with this?” She bites her lip, and peeks up at him.

“Are you okay with this?”

“What? I asked you first. You can’t answer a question with a question,” she huffs out. She shoots him a glare. His expression in return is entirely one of a man who doesn’t know what to feel. It’s also a familiar one. One she’s seen many times throughout their relationship. It’s the one that let’s her know that he plans on following her lead on this one, no matter how he might feel. It’s usually reserved for “big decisions” like whether or not they should date or move in or apparently have a baby together. 

And she gets it. She does. Sometimes she’s annoyed by this habit of his, but she gets it. Because he has walls too, and she knows on some level he’s afraid of getting his hopes up for anything in case she or some other force comes by and crushes it. And somewhere, deep inside, she’s still a little shocked that a 300-year-old pirate from the Enchanted Forest has somehow managed to become so progressive and let the feminine half of the relationship take the lead, because there are guys in the 21st Century who still haven’t caught onto that memo. It’s refreshing. But right now it’s also annoying because she really needs to know how he feels about this.  
  
But since she has the maturity of a teenager, she says instead, “Or we could just wait for the ultrasound to make sure it’s okay, because for all we know this fight with whats-his-face could have done irreparable harm, and we’re talking in circles about nothing.”

Killian looks stricken at that, which gives her a hint that he’s more invested in the idea of what’s growing inside her than he’s let on. Or it can mean he’s not totally sadistic, but Emma’s shooting for the former. Well, and the latter. She likes the idea of both. So they wait in silence for the nurse to come back and take her them to wherever ultrasounds are done. 

By the time a different nurse returns, Killian has joined her in sitting on the bed, his hooked arm wrapped around her and lips pressed to her temple. He’s comforting like that, and Emma doubts she’ll ever get over how safe she feels in his arms, and she thinks a baby would feel just as safe wrapped up in him.

The nurse leads them down a hallway to a different room, which has the ultrasound all set up. The gel she uses on Emma’s stomach is cold, and she hisses. Killian squeezes her hand in response, and presses another kiss to her temple. Years ago, during her first ultrasound with Henry, Emma had no one to hold her hand and kiss her. She’s almost just as scared, but it’s muted and she’s grounded. It’s a nice, different sort feeling. And then –

“Well, would you look at that,” the nurse says, and Emma glances up at the monitor. The screen is a swirl of black, white, and gray, but there’s a distinct figure right in the middle, one that’s moving just the slightest bit. “That’s your baby.”

She can feel Killian tighten his hold on her hand. She knows he’s since learned what ultrasounds do, but this is his first time really experienced anything like it. She tears her eyes away from the monitor to glance up at him, and whatever mask he had been wearing previously has completely disappeared, because all that shows is pure, unadulterated awe. 

“So, it’s fine then? It wasn’t hurt when Emma was?” he asks, his gaze still fixated on the tiny moving blob on the screen even as Emma corrects him that she wasn’t that hurt.

“By the looks of things, the baby appears to be fine,” the nurse replies. And then the nurse does something else. She turns on the heart rate monitor in the room is filled with the steady sound of a small beating heart. “And there’s the heartbeat.”

Emma feels the pinpricks of tears welling up in the corner of her eyes, the same sort of happy tears that Killian had earlier said weren’t characteristic of her, but now apparently are. “Hey, Killian?”

“Yes, love?” 

“You know how you asked if I was okay?”

He looks down at her and nods. She gives him a smile in return.

“I’m okay.”


	9. Graduation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you write some Daddy!Killian?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a super-sad prequel to "The Power of (True) Love"

 

He finds her on the _Jolly_ , clad in the ridiculously colored gowns that students are expected to wear upon the completion of their education. The hat sits jauntily on her head, its cord blowing in wind. Her legs hang over the ships edge, but she doesn’t kick them like she did when she was a child, full of innocent joy and laughter. Instead, she sits with her shoulders slumped, her head bowed down low, and Killian’s heart breaks not for the first time today.  
  
She’d left home earlier that day wearing a demure white dress and her red gown thrown over her arm saying that since she was giving a speech, she was expected to arrive earlier than the other students. Later, he received a call from one of her counselors saying she’d never arrived, wondering if she was running late or sick. Fear had gripped his heart as he had tried to no avail to reach her through her own device.

He walks up the gangplank to his ship, thankful that he had been able to see through the fog of his own anger and fear to seek her out here. There’s a lecture hanging on the tip of his tongue, a reminder of the house rule that she always answer her phone while out, but he bites it back. Now is not the moment for such a reprimand.

It’s what Emma would do.   
  
Killian knows she must him hear him, his steps none too light on the deck of his aged, but beloved ship, but she shows know acknowledgement. He moves to stand next to her, bracing his forearms against the rail where she sits. He doesn’t speak, just waits until she is ready.  
  
They are quiet for a while, her staring down at the water, him watching her. Every now and then, a tear streaks down her cheek. She doesn’t move to wipe it away, so neither does he. He longs to reach out to her, to take her into his arms just as he did when she was a babe, but he knows her well enough to allow her to come to him when she’s ready. She’s her mother’s daughter in more than just looks.

“Did you know Mom never graduated high school?” she finally asks, her voice soft. She continues to look down at the water lapping against the ship. “She got her GED and everything, but she never graduated high school or went to college. Henry always said that’s why she pushed us so hard to do homework and get good grades, you know, so we could have the life she never had. And today’s the day, and I’m supposed to give a speech and, and – “

Her voice breaks into a sob, and Killian helps her off the rail before pulling her into his arms. Her cap falls uselessly to the deck, but neither pay it any mind. Killian feels the pinpricks of tears in the corner of his own eyes, but he wills them back as he’s done every day for the past year, forcing himself to be the rock that his daughter needs.  
  
He’s been so proud of her. His little girl has been strong – so incredibly strong – since Emma’s death – stronger than he would have been at her age, and it’s that strength that’s pulled him along, his unwillingness for her to lose her light and be tempted by the darkness found through grief. But even as strong as she’s been, he’s been bracing himself for this, the moment when he walls would inevitably break and the grief of Emma’s loss would try to drown her. 

“She’d be so incredibly proud of you, Cygnet,” he says against the crown of her head. “She always has been.”  
  
This makes her cry more, and he feels incredibly useless, wishing Emma were here to tell him what to do. She’d always been closer to their daughter. It had been almost as if the two spoke a language only they could understand. He’d never begrudged them that closeness, loved it even, but now he wishes he could understand her better, find the magical salve that could soothe her (their) unimaginable grief. 

Killian holds her until the hardest of her sobs subside and ebb into quiet cries. She pulls away slightly, still gripping tightly onto him, her cheeks stained red, eye makeup smudged. “She’s supposed to be here,” she says, her voiced strained, “I’m supposed to graduate, and she’s supposed to watch me.”

“She would have been here if she could, love, you have to know that.”

“But she’s not.”

“No, she’s not.” Killian lifts his hand to thumb away a few errant tears. “But even though she’s not here, I can tell you that she wouldn’t want you to miss your ceremony.” 

“Well, I didn’t want her to die.”   
  
He can hear the hint of anger in her voice – at fate, at Emma, he’s now sure which. He’s felt too, fury at destiny for stealing his love away, and in his lowest moments, misplaced anger toward Emma for leaving them all behind. But it’s not an emotion he wants for her daughter, never for her, no matter how much he understands. “Hey, listen to me, your mother never wanted to leave you like this. Never. I promise you that.”  
  
She looks away from him, lips trembling, tears springing forth. “I miss her, Dad.”

“So do I, Cygnet,” he says, and he knows he’s failing to hide back the tears as she falls against him. They hold one another on the deck of his ship, their grief rolling through them just as it rolls over the sea. Finally, the tears subside and they break away. Killian smiles down at his daughter, glassy as it is, and asks, “How about you go graduate, yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure I missed it.”   
  
Her voice is full of the guilt he knew she would feel, her expression stricken. Thankfully, he had known this even before he found her. “I believe Sheriff’s office delayed the ceremony on account of reports of a potential gas leak. Things should clear up by the time we return.”

“Grandpa didn’t!”

“Did you honestly believe Prince Charming would allow his only granddaughter to miss her high school graduation? Perish the thought.” He winks at her, and she giggles – a rare and beautiful sound. She smiles at him, and though it doesn’t meet her eyes, he considers it a victory.

“Oh God, I must look like shit,” she gasps suddenly, falling back into her teenage girl nature.

“Never,” he assures.  
  
She closes her eyes for a moment, deep in concentration. Suddenly, there is a flash, and it’s like her makeup was never ruined. “Did it work?”  
  
“Impressive,” he tells her. It’s the truth, though he doubts he will never not be impressed with her.

“Mom taught me.” They linger, memories of Emma hanging between them. Finally, shy and afraid, she asks, ““Do you think she can see me from...you know...up there?”

In the Underworld, he had no idea what had occurred topside, and he properly moved on to know what was on the other side. He liked to believe, though, that paradise allowed her to watch over them. “I’m sure she can.”  
  
“Good,” she says. She gathers herself, and lifts her cap from the desk, and adjusts it atop her head. “I have a speech to make.”

“Aye, love, you do.”

Later, flanked by David and Henry, Killian watches his daughter stand at a the podium and recite her speech. She looks so much like Emma standing there, her blonde hair falling in waves and green eyes bright. Also like Emma, she sounds so sure as she speaks to the crowd. _You’d be proud love,_ he thinks, and somehow, Killian thinks he hears, “I am.”


	10. Fighting Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They ask him what he would prefer "boy or girl?", but Killian Jones' answer is far more complicated than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this baby bit on the plane. It's unbeta'd, so apologies in advance. Spoilers for 7x02!

“So what are you hoping for, a boy or a girl?” 

It’s a question that comes up often now that word of Emma’s pregnancy is public knowledge. Like most expectant parents, he parrots back the answer, “I could hardly care what our babe is, as long as he or she is healthy, I’ll love them regardless” hoping that his voice doesn’t betray his true feelings regarding the matter of his child’s biological sex. 

Killian Jones isn’t lying when he says that he will love his child regardless of how he or she is born. Boy or girl, the knowledge of their mere existence is miracle enough to bring him to his knees. But, he’s a superstitious man and the fates have conspired against his family and loved ones one too many times to make him quake in his boots over one thing --  _ a daughter _ . 

Once upon a time, he hadn’t been afraid. In fact, if pressed, Killian might have admitted he wished for a daughter. He can picture her perfectly -- Emma’s hair, his eyes -- a perfect combination of both. A girl would mean one of each for Emma, a son and a daughter, and gods does his wife deserve to have everything life would have to offer. 

But then Killian met  _ him _ , and everything changed. 

He can recall with distinct clarity the moment he felt as if he were looking into the mirror several years in the future, encountering his older self from Emma’s wish, alive and real and broken. And then all had come to light -- the other man, the other  _ him _ , had a daughter, but also lost one. 

It’s a tale that’s haunted him for the past few months. He doesn’t share his anxieties with Emma, unwilling to add extra stress to her pregnancy. They had tried for so long and had their hearts shattered over the years in an effort to have a child, that Killian is unwilling to add any unnecessary pressure if he can avoid. After all, he doesn’t know if his fears could ever come to light. He only theorizes, but gods, he prays to whichever god will listen that he’s wrong. 

He can’t help but wonder that if he and Emma have a daughter, that the fates might conspire to steal her away -- lock her in a tower, place her in a wardrobe and whisk her realms away. He knows not everything is the same between he and his other self, but enough is to make him question just what his and Emma’s future hold. The other Killian Jones has his face, his hook, and his name. If they share the same past, could they also share the same future?

Logically, he knows there are differences. In this world, he has Emma. If the child growing inside Emma proves to be a girl, he knows the science enough to know that she wouldn’t be the same as the one sired by his other self. But Killian also knows that though the DNA, as he’s learned, is different, same things are always the same. Snow White bites a poisoned apple. Sleeping Beauty falls under a sleeping curse. Cinderella loses her glass slipper. Could he be fated to have a daughter and lose her, no matter the realm?   
  
It’s something he can’t bear to find out. Killian isn’t sure how he would survive failing both Emma and their child. After everything Emma suffered with Henry, he will not let her miss more years with her second child. And he, himself, refuses to allow his child to grow up like he and Emma had -- alone, scared, and without a set of loving parents. 

He would die to keep his family safe, already has done it before. He prays the opportunity never arises, and perhaps, perhaps a son might prevent that. But fate’s a strange mistress, and it’s with Emma gripping his hook, he learns just who his child might be.

“Congratulations! It looks like you’re having a girl.”


End file.
